Rob pulled the phone out of his pocket and pressed it against Cade’s right thumb to unlock the screen. He poked around for a few seconds. “He’s right. There’s a call to her.”

McDonald pressed his lips together as he regarded Cade. “We’ll settle his fate later. Put him in the pantry. Tie his feet too.”

Rob knocked Cade’s feet out from under him, and he fell to the floor, catching his weight on his left shoulder and knocking the breath out of his lungs. The group of men pressed closer, and scuffed boots moved threateningly close to his face. His feet were lifted; someone produced a rope and bound his ankles together.

That’s when the kicking started. Boot tips to his face, chest, and back. Cade rolled to his side and tried to bring his head to his knees, protecting his chest and belly. He vomited the soda, and the blows continued until McDonald ordered them to stop.

They’d dragged him into a small room off the kitchen and slammed the door. He heard McDonald order someone to clean up the mess.

Cade slowed his breaths, inhaling as gently as possible to stop his ribs from sending lightning jolts of pain to his brain. He searched for something optimistic about his situation.

I’m not dead.

Kaylie knows where I am. But would she tell anyone? Or would she go to bed upset that he’d blown off their dinner?

If it had been one of his buddies he’d told, he’d probably wait a week before mentioning he hadn’t heard from Cade lately. And didn’t a person need to be missing for two days before the police took any action?

I’m not dead.

Voices sounded from the mess hall. The men were protesting something McDonald had said. Cade awkwardly scooted closer to the entry and placed his ear against the wide crack under the door.

“I don’t care that it upsets you. I can’t shoot him,” said McDonald. “His girlfriend knows he was coming here, and if they find his body with a bullet hole, where do you think they’ll focus their attention?”

Cade shuddered at the casual tone. McDonald spoke about killing him as if he were debating whether to throw out an old head of lettuce.

“I know he betrayed us,” McDonald said. “I wish I hadn’t hired him, but we needed to get the bunkhouses done as quickly as possible. From here on out, all labor will come from our circle. No more outside help. We will trust and rely on ourselves. The way I wanted it to be in the first place. Our need to expand the facilities will no longer affect my decisions.”

“We’ll get it done!” “We don’t need anyone else!” “No more outsiders!”

Cade’s neck ached from the uncomfortable position, but it was a small pain compared with his others. And small in relation to the utter burning fear in his stomach.

“Stage an accident,” suggested a voice from the crowd. Other voices seconded his idea.

“I like the idea,” said McDonald.

Proposals for car accidents, fires, and hunting accidents were put forward. Cade couldn’t make out all the words of the discussion on the best way to kill him, but he heard enough. He rolled onto his stomach, resting his neck.

“Are you guys crazy?” said one clear voice. “He’s just a kid.”

That was Mitch.

Relief at the knowledge that he had one friend in the group made tears burn in both his eyes. Snot ran from his injured nose, and he wiped it carefully against the floor.

The muttered tones and angry voices that followed told Cade that Mitch was in the minority.

“We handle our own problems,” announced McDonald. “We don’t wait for the narrow-minded police and backed-up courts to spend our taxes as they dawdle over making decisions. The kid broke my trust and has put a lot of people in danger. That needs to be punished.” He paused. “Do you have a problem with my decision, Mitch?”

Silence.

Cade held his breath.

“All I’m asking for is mercy,” said Mitch. “A little leniency. You said he’s shown a lot of potential, Tom. I agree you should go ahead and punish him . . . he’s got that coming, but I don’t think he deserves death.”

Thank you, Mitch.

“This is why I’m the leader, Mitch. I don’t let emotions mess with the need to take action. I’ve decided on the best way to handle the kid, but your input has been noted, and we’ll debate his sentence a little later.”

Murmurs of agreement reached Cade.

He’s humoring Mitch and trying to show the other men they have a voice in his decisions.

They don’t.

“Whether he lives or dies will be decided tonight.”

TWENTY-NINE

Truman couldn’t stand still.

“We need to wait for our backup,” Mercy argued as they watched the woman’s taillights disappear down the road from the ranch.

“I vote we go in. We can’t wait. Waiting could mean Cade’s death. You saw how scared she was.” Truman’s muscles buzzed as if he’d had three hits of espresso.

“But—”

“If there was an active shooter, we’d already be in there.”

“That’s different.”

“Cade needs us to take action now. For all we know, we’re too late. You know I’m right.” He watched Mercy look back at the road, where they expected their backup to appear. “We’ve got good cause to go in. Now.”

“Dammit. Get me a vest.”

Truman opened the rear of his Tahoe and grabbed another vest as she updated her boss on their actions. “You should’ve already had one on,” Truman muttered as he handed it to her. His own vest suddenly felt heavy and too tight around his chest. Breathe slowly. He took a couple of deep breaths and fought off the claustrophobic feeling. How can I wear it all day with no problem and suddenly feel like it’s drowning me?

Fucking nerves.

I’m not waiting to find Cade.

He’d promised himself he’d never hesitate again. He knew better than to rush every situation, but he’d heard enough from the woman to know Cade’s situation was deadly serious. As Mercy strapped on the vest, he called the dispatcher and asked her to inform the Deschutes County sheriff that they were going inside.

“Jeff said Eddie and another agent are headed out here,” reported Mercy as she tightened the Velcro straps. “They’re in touch with the Deschutes County deputies that are en route.”

“Let’s go.” Truman wove through the parked vehicles toward the light above the door on the mess hall, and wondered what they’d find inside. The entire ranch was eerily quiet. There was no indication that a mob stood ready to tear apart a young man.

Did she exaggerate?

“Truman,” Mercy whispered urgently. “Get down!”

He immediately spotted the figure and ducked behind the bed of a truck next to Mercy. Moving silently, he stretched to peer around the truck. Tom McDonald’s recognizable bulk moved across the compound. His steps were stiff, and he walked with a noticeable waddle. He was alone. Truman watched for a long moment, searching the darkness for McDonald’s ever-present guards.

Truman pulled back into the protection of the truck’s shadow. “I didn’t see his entourage.”

“I didn’t either. He’s headed toward the farmhouse.”

Their gazes met in the dim light. “Follow him,” Truman stated as Mercy nodded. They changed direction and moved after the man. They kept to the shadows, constantly checking over their shoulders for McDonald’s guards. Truman doubted Cade was in the farmhouse, but surely McDonald wouldn’t authorize any punishment of Cade without his direct supervision. McDonald struck him as the type to keep a firm thumb on top of every command.

If we can stop McDonald, we can stop him from telling his men what to do.

What if we’re too late?

Truman refused to consider that possibility, positive that their best course of action was to cut off any communication between the leader and his men. According to what they’d learned from the escaping woman, McDonald had to be stopped. Period.

No hesitating.

He and Mercy watched McDonald lumber up the steps to the farmhouse and disappear inside.

“Think his guards are already in there?” she whispered.